


I hope it stays dark forever; I hope the worst isn't over

by Mycroffed



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley takes a depression nap, Depressed Crowley, Genderfluid Crowley, Like really depressed, M/M, Please take care while reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycroffed/pseuds/Mycroffed
Summary: Crowley has a date with Aziraphale. If only he'd be able to get up and get ready.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32
Collections: Fics that I want to continue





	I hope it stays dark forever; I hope the worst isn't over

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this story talks about depression and self-hate. If this triggers you, then this story is not for you.
> 
> Also: my Crowley prefers the pronouns they/them, even though in the book, they use he/him. this is just my personal preference.
> 
> I wrote this a while back, in August, and don't know why I didn't post this before. The title and the quotes at the beginning/end are from No Children by the Mountain Goats. Hope you enjoy it!

I am drowning

There is no sign of land

You are coming down with me

Hand in unlovable hand

\--~--

In the middle of their apartment, full of destroyed things, was Anthony J Crowley. They were sitting against a wall, their legs curled up against their chest, their chin resting on top of their knees. They were staring off into the distance, as they often did when they were alone. After all, why would they need to hold up the smooth, suave, seemingly happy persona when they weren’t about anyone who cared? Aziraphale wasn’t there to see them, nor was Anathema, or any of those weird children they had met while trying to stop the Apocalypse.

They would put effort into smiling, into having emotions, into doing those things that they would expect someone like Crowley to do when they were around. After all, they didn’t want anyone else to see what was truly going on inside their head.

The day had started well: they had called Aziraphale, planned a meeting and for a while, they had actually seemed to be enthusiastic about going out. Going though their closet to find the exact right outfit (1) to wear, putting on a playlist of their favourite songs to listen to as they moved through their apartment, putting stuff in order.

(1) The same one they always wore, of course.

After all, they were finally getting somewhere with the angel. Finally, it seemed like their time to be genuinely happy had come. Of course, that was when everything collapsed around them. First, that one song had popped up on their playlist. The one filled with memories, with sadness, with all the bad things that they didn’t want to be reminded of today. The song was skipped immediately, there was no need for that, but the damage had already been done. The earworm had snuck into their head, playing it over and over and over until they couldn’t stand it anymore.

Okay, so time to do something else. They started cleaning their already minimalistic kitchen (2), but after not even five minutes of that, they were already bored, restless, aching to do something else. So they sat down in their throne chair, picked up one of the books that they had taken from Aziraphale’s the last time they’d been there (3) and started to read. They gave up on that not even seven pages into the first chapter. Maybe they needed to do something they liked? They grabbed one of those newly cleaned spray bottles, filled them with water and made their way over towards the Plant Room™.

(2) Which meant that Crowley reorganised the few cups that they had, maybe cleaned the coffee maker and then glared at the spray bottles until they were completely clean.

(3) Fully planning on returning them, naturally. After a good long while.

They walked in and immediately took a deep breath. The air was always a little more humid there, a little warmer than the rest of their apartment. During the winter months, they often came and just lay on the floor, taking in the heat of the lamps that they had installed in order to keep their tropical plants from dying. There was a reason why they always felt at ease in that room.

While doing their rounds, they had discovered that not one, but two of their precious plants had gotten spots. The growl that had escaped them had made all of the plants tremble in their pots, their flowers shrinking just that little bit. (4) The two pots were gathered, emptied in the trash can downstairs, and then placed in the middle of the room.

(4) That didn’t last long, because one look from the demon at those failing flowers would be enough to send them towards the same fate that their brethren were going to suffer.

The demon hissed the usual at their plants, something along the lines of ‘you’ve disappointed me, grow better’, but there was something missing. The righteous fury against their plants just wasn’t there. There just was a kind of… emptiness. So the fallen angel replaced that with irrational anger, with something that wasn’t supposed to be there at all, and threw both of the pots on the ground until they shattered.

There. That would teach them.

For a they stood there watching the shattered pieces, almost as if expecting that they would once again join each other until they were fully formed. But nothing happened, except that fury that had been there moments before was slowly leaking out of them, as if they had been the one that had been broken and everything was now leaving them.

Once again, the demon didn’t have time for that ridiculous emptiness, so they stormed out of the plant room, their growls terrifying to those who didn’t know them, their steps echoing against the almost bare walls, their eyes burning bright in their eye sockets as they scanned the room for their next victim.

Not finding anything satisfactory (5), they stormed out of the Plant Room™ and into the living room, where they stormed around until it looked like a hurricane had passed by. Their throne had been toppled over, their desk-table had been slammed against a wall and was now standing on only three legs, their paintings were all hanging just that little bit crooked against the wall. It was then that that anger once again left them, leaving them to slide down one of the walls.

(5) They really didn’t want to harm their plants; those would have an even harder time growing if they punished them even when they hadn’t done anything wrong.

They could address that feeling of emptiness, could attempt to give it a name, but that would mean taking a closer look at what was going on. That seemed like the last thing they wanted to do: what if they didn’t like what they found? There were so many things that it could be, yet there was only one word that popped to the forefront of their mind.

Lonely.

The demon was lonely. They missed the angel by their side, watching them smile, watching the room become just a little bit brighter when they walk into it. They missed how the ‘dear’ would resonate inside them for a few seconds after it had been said, how the angel would pout every time the demon did something they didn’t quite like.

It was like having a void in their heart, one that was perfectly shaped in the form of one particular angel, and no matter how much they tried to fill it with other stuff, with other people, none of that, none of them would ever be a perfect fit. They could try all they wanted to fill that hole with things and people that they deserved, but it’d never be enough.

This was usually the point where the demon would move to their bed to sleep off this mood, but they couldn’t muster up the energy to get up and move into the bedroom. Even a demonic miracle to move themself there was too much to ask today. Why were they like this? Why did they have to be such a failure at everything they did? First it was the angel thing, then the demon, it was almost as if they weren’t made to be supernatural at all. (6) Maybe all they had to do was give up.

(6) For a fraction of a moment, they allowed themself to wonder what they would have been like as a human. They had a feeling that they would either be a very successful one, or end up being someone like Van Gogh, who cut off their own ear in a bout of depression. What a delightful thing to think about.

A sigh escaped them, before they rested their head against their knees again, allowing their eyes to slowly slide shut. Their thoughts didn’t exactly change, eyes open or closed, but at least this way their eyes wouldn’t get any more tired than they already were.

For a few minutes, they managed to stay awake, to keep guiding their thoughts anywhere but at the gaping hole in their chest. Of course, having those thoughts poke at anything but the hole made it only more obvious where it was and what it was missing. The edges would start to grow rough, painful, as they were avoided at all cost.

A voice in the back of their head, one that sounded a lot like a particular Principality, told them that it would be okay, that they didn’t need to worry about it. That this was how all humans felt when away from the one they loved. And they wouldn’t have to feel like it for very long, after all, they had a date with the angel that same evening. While that wasn’t enough to make them stop hurting, it was enough to relax them just enough so that they’d drift off to a dreamless, harmless sleep.

\--~--

They woke up when it as entirely dark outside, a thought nagging at the back of their sleepy head. It couldn’t quite make its way to the forefront of their mind, the cloudiness of sleep was still clinging too tightly to them. A cup of coffee and a biscuit would do wonders for this sensation. As they got up from where they had been sitting, still perched against the wall, their back ached quite badly. Their body might be of a special make, might not age, but that didn’t mean that sitting in the same position for hours on end didn’t hurt. They could still get wounded and killed, so why would a spot of back pain spare them?

Making their way to the kitchen, they miracled a quick mug of instant coffee (7) and a plate of their favourite store-brand cookies. (8) They sipped the coffee, dunked and nibbled on the cookies for about fifteen minutes before their mind seemed to get a little bit clearer.

(7) Those always seemed to be just that little bit better when made around the angel, but this would still do. Caffeine was caffeine, after all.

(8) Somewhere in London, a very disappointed tourist would open up a package of triple chocolate chip cookies, only to find it completely empty. They would then end up complaining to the manager of the store where they had bought those, who would then take that higher up. So many people’s days would be ruined. What a wonderful turn of events to begin with a plate of cookies.

They had someplace to be, hadn’t they? They remembered quite clearly that they had a meeting with /someone/. A date, maybe? The only person that they would want to go on a date with was—

Aziraphale.

They had completely forgotten about their angel.

Frantically, they rushed back to the living room, their food and drink forgotten on the kitchen counter, only to grab their phone from where it lay forgotten. They pressed the ‘wake up’ button five times within a single second, though they were very much aware that that didn’t exactly help at all. Eventually, the screen lit up, a single notification box staring accusingly at them.

[ Five missed calls from 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ]

Five. They had missed five calls while they were sleeping.

No. No no no no no.

They were already trying to think of lies they could tell Aziraphale, excuses that would sound nonchalant and believable enough as to why they hadn’t shown up for their date. They could claim that they had been followed by demons, or that there was some tempting that should be done, but those thoughts sounded ridiculous even to themself.

How would they explain this? If they didn’t do this properly, Aziraphale would probably never talk to Crowley again. Only the absolute best excuse would be good enough for the angel, so they threw the phone onto the ground again before striding over towards their throne and sitting down in it.

They wouldn’t leave that place until they had a proper excuse to tell Aziraphale why they hadn’t come to the date.

\--~--

Eight hours later, Anthony J Crowley was still sitting in the same spot, their legs crossed underneath them, no further than they’d been before. They had, however, managed to attract a stomach ache, a headache and was so close to just giving up and falling asleep again.

If they slept through the rest of the century, then the angel would back off, wouldn’t they? The guilt over that one missed date wouldn’t be able to follow them when they were asleep. They’d end up in this perfect state, free of feelings, free of people. They could just be, for a while.

Just a little while.

\--~--

I am drowning

There is no sign of land

You are coming down with me

Hand in unlovable hand

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are fire to my soul!


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